


With My Baby By My Side

by raedbard



Category: The West Wing
Genre: Banter, Community: kink_bingo, Fluff, M/M, Nonstandard narrative choices, Post-Canon, Vehicular Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-31
Updated: 2010-08-31
Packaged: 2017-10-11 09:12:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/110780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raedbard/pseuds/raedbard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam Seaborn, having come into a legacy that makes him twitchy, is exercising his right to achieve happiness through the purchase of big shiny objects that go really fast.</p>
            </blockquote>





	With My Baby By My Side

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2010 round of kink_bingo. Kink in question is 'vehicular'.
> 
> Content includes: banter, teasing, boyish fantasy, questionable stylistic choices, and making out on the hood of an Aston Martin DB9. Set post-series.

So you're going to buy a new car.  
Yes.  
Why?  
Because I'm an adult and I can if I want to?  
Debatable, but okay.  
Toby --  
What kind of car?  
Well, I was thinking an Aston Martin, actually.  
An Aston Martin.  
What?  
You're James Bond now?  
They're nice cars, Toby!  
You can't, for once in your life, buy American?  
I like them! GM probably owns the damn company these days anyway.  
That's not the point.  
Well, yes, it _is_ the point, Toby. You just don't want to admit it.  
I think Germany owns Aston Martin, as a matter of fact.  
The whole country?  
Probably a commercial enterprise.  
Do I look like that information is troubling to me?  
Predictably, no.  
It's my damn paycheck, Toby. I'll spend it in whatever way seems best to me.  
Fine.  
I'm being indulgent, okay? For the first time in a really long time! I'm exercising my right to achieve happiness through the purchase of big shiny things.  
You know this really kills your environment credentials.  
Do we _have_ to tell the environmentalists? Will they care if we do tell them?  
I think they'll find out. Perhaps because I chose to call and tell them. And make them care.  
You know you caught this snootiness about Bond cars from the President, right? That doesn't bother you at all?  
Occasionally -- very occasionally -- he has a point. Anyway, I thought you'd want a convertible, so you can drive around looking disgustingly tanned and Californian. In New York.  
They have convertibles.  
Uh huh.  
Look, I didn't actually ask you to come. Or even to express an opinion.  
I'm keeping an eye on you.  
O-kay.  
I have to watch out for you, Sam. There's no telling what this dazzling wealth will do to you.  
Yeah, next stop Trump Tower. For crying out loud, Toby --  
I want to see what you pick out.  
You want to haggle with the guy and get into a fight and embarrass me.  
Maybe.  
You're impossible.  
Yes. That quality is listed under 'Skills and Attributes' in my resume.  
Sam laughs. Okay, fine. Come on, then. The showroom's in Long Island.  
Long Island?  
What's the matter, Toby? You don't want a day's vacation?  
Ask yourself that question again, Sam.  
Well you're getting one whether you like it or not. C'mon.

*

What is it that you like about them? The Aston Martins?  
I have to like a particular thing? I can't just think they're good cars that I would enjoy using to make the New York traffic just a little bit slower on my way to New Jersey?  
Not at two hundred thousand dollars, no. And I still can't believe --  
Look, Toby, I am an American, number one. Number two, I have all this money that once belonged to my father hanging around in my checking account --  
You have ... how much was it again?  
_Three_ hundred thousand dollars.  
Thank you. You have three hundred thousand dollars in your checking account? Remind me to spend ten minutes cracking your password sometime.  
It's the day we met.   
What?  
It's the day we met. Like a safe combination. October 23rd 1997. Oh-eight-twenty-three-nineteen-ninety-seven.  
Okay.  
You're not going to tell me I'm the most sentimental person you've ever met?  
I figure you can infer it from my face.  
Yes, I can.  
So, you're saying that you don't want all the money your dad left you hanging around in your account, making you feel guilty. And to that end you've decided to spend it on an enormously over-priced British sports car which you won't be able actually to drive around the city in which we live, because that's easier than looking at the money sitting there, accruing interest, reminding you that you had a less than perfect relationship with your father. Have I got it all?  
We're going on a lot of road trips just for that, Toby. Road trips for which I will not pack maps.  
Did I get it all?  
... Yeah.  
Okay.  
The car seems like something he would have approved of. Although he'd be as horrified as you that I'm not buying a Mustang.  
I never said a Mustang.  
Another Dodge?  
I loved that car, Sam.  
No, Toby, I know that you really really didn't. There was a little indentation in the door from you kicking it every morning when it wouldn't start.   
Okay, no, I hated that car.  
But it was useful as a tool in arguments with Republicans.  
Yes. And for that alone it should be lauded.  
I like Aston Martins because they look good. The lines are beautiful. And because they're ... I don't know. Classy, I guess.  
And shiny.  
And shiny.  
You'd make a passable Bond.  
As backhanded compliments go, Toby, that was a doozy.  
Well, they are my speciality. Plus you look good in tuxedos. I should know.  
Sam kisses his cheek quickly. Toby blushes, and pushes him gently away.  
Plus there's the penis metaphor.  
I'm sorry?  
It's not an inadequacy thing, just that I know what the shape makes me think of. And I kinda like that.  
See, you buy a nice Mustang, you don't have these thoughts, Sam.  
I think I probably would, Toby.  
You think Mustangs are sexy? Please, I'm reeling from the idea that it's possible to find any kind of car sexy.  
Yeah, our whole culture isn't built on the idea. You're completely right.  
I prefer to be attracted to animate objects.  
Like me?  
You're actually a little too animate.  
Yeah. That's what you said this morning.  
Shut up, Sam.  
I actually think you take my animation for granted.  
Believe me when I say that's not true. You don't know the amount of times I've seriously considered running away to pursue a quieter, less animate, life somewhere half a continent away from you.  
You're moving to Colorado?  
Shut up, Sam.  
Anyway, of course cars can be sexy. You didn't draw cars in the back of your school books when you were a kid?  
No, usually women.  
Don't do the heterosexuality one-upmanship thing again, Toby.  
Did I say anything?  
You implied my interest in cars, being centred around the similarity of that object to the male penis, was inherently less healthy and normal and generally the kind of thing that boys do than sticking pictures of random women in your math book. Which I resent, just in case I wasn't being clear.  
I implied all that?  
You pack a lot in.  
I didn't actually draw anything.  
Well. I did. But mostly boats, actually.  
Boats?  
Don't start, Toby.  
Boats.  
I planned routes as well.  
Of course you did.  
It's how I know my way around the country so well.  
Y-es.  
Anyway. It's a boyhood fantasy. So shut up.  
Toby smiles. On anyone else, the action would deserve the label 'indulgent'.

*

You're really going to pay sticker?  
Haven't I already explained my rationale for buying this thing at all?  
It's not blood money, Sam. There's no need to jettison two-thirds of a small fortune just because it's making you twitchy.  
I'm not sure you can haggle on something this expensive anyway.  
No, that's _exactly_ the thing you haggle on.  
Just because you're cheap --  
_Frugal_, I think that was.  
Cheap.  
Whatever. I really think you should try to avoid spending exactly one hundred and ninety eight thousand four hundred and seventy dollars on this.  
No, I was thinking of spending exactly that amount on it.  
My reciting those numbers doesn't bother you at all?  
No.  
Sam!  
Toby?  
I like it. I like the colour. It smells _fantastic_. The way the light falls on it is just amazing. And I want to take it for a test drive and then I want to buy it and drive it home.  
If you rearranged the numbers a little it's more or less the same as your digital banking password cum sentimental reminder.  
No, it isn't, Toby.  
You know, you're really a lot less tractable in your old age.  
Just get the guy, please.  
Toby sighs. Okay. I'll get the guy.  
Thank you.

*

You don't think this is amazing?  
What?  
Amazing! You don't think this is amazing?  
I'm busy going deaf in both ears, Sam.  
You really don't think this is a thrill?  
I really prefer not trying to break the sound barrier.  
We're not even pushing seventy, Toby.  
You forget that my basis for comparison is the Metropolitan Transportation Authority.  
You don't think this is romantic? Not even a little bit? Open road, a fast car, and your baby by your side?  
_Please_, Sam.  
Sam laughs in a way that makes it clear that he thinks he knows exactly what Toby does and does not find romantic.  
I'm Jewish, remember? This is not part of my fantasy landscape!  
Yeah, no Jew has ever gone on a road trip or a long journey or a -- oh, _wait_.  
Shut up.  
Sam laughs again.   
And keep your eyes on the road, okay!  
Don't worry, Toby. I'm not planning to murder you in a three car pile-up.  
Well, no. Since that would also involve wrecking your two thousand dollar penis substitute.  
And my semi-precious boyfriend.  
Sam.  
For the eightieth time, no, I'm not going to stop using that word, since that's what you _are_.  
Not if I kill both of us and make it look like a murder-suicide.  
Actually, I think that would make people think that I was right, Toby.  
... Yes.  
You know I'm right. _Baby_.  
Possibly. But I can still deny it with my last breath. Why are you stopping?  
I want to show you something.  
What?  
Just shut up a minute.   
Sam. What the hell --  
Come out. The weather's fine.  
Why are you sitting on the hood? Isn't it, you know, on fire?  
I wasn't driving that fast.  
I'm going to be asked to appreciate the artistry of the lines of this hunk of overpriced metal, aren't I?  
No.  
Sam?  
Just get the hell over here, will you?  
I want you to know that I already know what you're going to do.  
Oh yeah?  
I'm pretty sure.  
Just come here, will you.  
This hood is exactly as hot as I said it would be.  
Burning your hands, is it?  
No. Burning a hole through your brain, yes.  
Shut up and kiss me.  
Sam.  
I don't care, right now, that I'm talking in cliches, Toby. Actually, that's kind of the point. Kiss me.  
I was a bit more concerned about the Highway Patrol.  
They don't care. They can see how expensive the car is. Also we have all our clothes on. For now.  
You want me to bend you over this overpriced hard-on from your boyhood presented today in steel grey and kiss you, huh?  
Yeah.  
Uh huh.  
See, you stroke the car like that and I'm thinking you're protesting too much, Toby.  
I'm faking you out.  
You know you're going to get laid in the backseat later, and don't tell me that's never been a fantasy of yours.  
Not a _fantasy_, as such.  
There you go again with the straight guy pissing contest.  
I'm open to new interpretations of the classics. Everyone who knows me would agree.  
Oh, really?  
Yes.  
So you're not opposed in principle?  
No.  
So you will kiss me?  
Maybe.  
C'mon. Press me up against the door.  
You know your porno talk is still really disturbing, right?  
Only because you want it too.  
I have no problem expressing my desires, Sam.  
Loudly, and with menaces, usually.  
Later on, I'm going to show you exactly how this fantasy should have gone.  
Oh, really.  
We need to find a drive-in someplace.  
And a letterman jacket for you.  
For you. You're playing my athletic but tragically dull student who, his lack of smarts notwithstanding, I've decided it would be worthwhile to seduce. Since I have tenure.  
Sam laughs. You get off way too much on the power of the word 'Professor' in your job title.  
Worried?  
Not particularly.  
You don't want to hear what I would do?  
I can imagine. I can imagine you popping the buttons one by one. I can imagine you stroking my thigh through my inexplicably tight football pants.  
You play football in this fantasy, huh?  
Well the chess club don't have their own uniforms.  
True.  
So, you stroke my thigh -- yeah, kinda like that -- and you marvel at the musculature thereof.  
Yes, I definitely do that.  
And you take hold of my hand and you put it between your legs.  
Like this?  
Yeah.  
Huh.  
And I touch you and I show you I'm not scared by undoing your pants and taking you out and --  
And maybe we'd better get back in the car.  
There's no one around, Toby. Please?  
How does everyone in the continental United States not know that you're just this side of a nymphomaniac, Sam?  
The hood's warm, you're hard, I'm hard. Come on.   
You're crazy.  
You like that.  
You should have told me to bring a spare pair of pants.  
Just -- _there_. Oh fuck.  
Shut up.  
_Yes_, Toby --  
Shut up, Sam.

*

Happy now?  
Yes, I feel light of heart.  
And of pocket.  
You really have to let go of this impoverished Brooklyn boy thing, Toby. It's not healthy.  
Shut up.  
Come on. Let's go home.  
Get in the other side.  
Toby?  
I want to drive.  
Hah! You see. I told you. You're a convert.  
I asked the guy to fit an ejector seat in the passenger side. So laugh away.  
Before you ask, I'm not going to let you drive it to Columbia so you can seduce innocent young football players.  
Yeah, because that's what my life really needs.  
I know, I know. I'm a handful. But a handful with a really nice car.  
Maybe.  
You want some quiet time with it, you just let me know, Toby.  
Shut up and get in the car.  
We can go look for drive-in movie theatres on the way back if you like?  
Shut up, Sam.  
Sam kisses Toby's cheek again. Toby kisses Sam's mouth. Sam grins. Toby presses the ignition button. Dust rises up from the beneath wheels. They head home.


End file.
